


Keep Breathing

by Banashee



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo ROUND 2 [9]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Friendship, Heavy Angst, Homophobic Language, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rape Aftermath, Recovery, Self-Sacrificing Steve Rogers, Threats of Violence, Torture, Trauma, Verbal Humiliation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banashee/pseuds/Banashee
Summary: Tony, Steve and Clint find themselves in a sticky situation, locked up in a dark and damp room. What their captors want, they don't know yet, but Steve is determined to protect his partners, offering himself as a bait.Neither of the other two is happy about his choice, but then again, they would have done the same for him and each other. The three of them are trapped in a nightmare, and they can only hope that rescue is on the way.The aftermath is messy and painful.-(no non-con in between the pairing! It's a torture situation)Please mind the tags and additional warnings-9/25: "Take me instead"
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Clint Barton/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo ROUND 2 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981954
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Keep Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Bad Things Happen Bingo - Round 2!  
> Originally, I had this aaaall planned out as a NaNoWriMo project, but I decited to scrap that. Instead, I'll just write little snippets for each prompt and safe the larger ideas for another time. I'll write them - one day...  
> *Looks at giant pile of unfinished ideads and projects*  
> *nervous laughter dissolving into desperate sobbing*  
> -
> 
> As always, I'm crossposting these stories on my Tumblr.  
> https://banashee.tumblr.com/
> 
> You can get your own Bingo Card over at  
> https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/
> 
> The cover for this fic was made with a free to use photo from Unsplash
> 
> -
> 
> Please mind the tags and warnings in the end notes - this one is pretty dark and there are many potential triggers.

****

****

**Keep Breathing**

“NO! Take me instead!” The words echo through the half dark room. It’s damp and smells of mold, as well as wet, dirty concrete. Who knows how long it was left in this state, or how many people before them - no. Better not think about that.

There is not a lot in here, only thick walls, a heavy metal door with no locks on the inside and a few sets of chains bolted into the walls.

Steve’s words are met with a beat of silence, only interrupted by a string of bitten of curses from behind him. 

“Steve, what the fuck are you doing?!” Tony hisses behind him - he is furious, no doubt, but more than anything, there is worry in his voice. If there is one thing he can’t stand, it’s people around him getting hurt. Least of all people he loves. 

Clint doesn’t say anything, but only because he is physically unable to do so. His jaw is dislocated and his face swollen blue, but there is a warning glare in his still visible eye. If he could, he would have said about the same thing as Tony, no doubt.

‘Hypocrite’ would be fitting though - after all, the archer got those injuries in particular when he tried to get in between their captors and his partners a day or so before.

Time is a strange thing in a situation like this. 

Steve ignores both Tony and Clint, even though he wants to say something reassuring. But as it is, all three are stuck in this hellhole and they - whoever they are - will do whatever they want to at least one of them. Steve figures, it might as well be the only one of them who has enchanted healing. Offering himself in place of the other two is a decision he doesn’t even need to think about. 

Instead of answering any of the protests, Steve is staring back at the masked men who point the guns at them. There is no way to read their faces, but he can only hope that they don’t care who they are taking away.

It is going to hurt, there is no denying that. But Steve heals fast, he can survive more - and this is why he offers himself up without hesitation. 

“Take me instead” Steve repeats, determination on his face.

“Leave them alone.”

One of their captors laughs - cold and cruel, but he nods.

“Okay then, get up.”

The man never promises to leave Tony or Clint alone, but if there is even a breath of a chance, Steve will damn well take it. 

*+~

The sound of his own breaking bones echoes in his ears. 

Bile rises up his throat, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep himself from screaming. Steve is stubborn. For as long as he possibly can, he denies them the satisfaction of seeing him break, although he knows that this is their goal. Especially now, that he has offered himself in order to protect both Tony and Clint. 

_‘Please let them be safe. Leave them alone’_ he keeps thinking over and over. The mantra in his head helps to distract him a little bit from the seething pain, but with it comes worry. _‘What if they hurt either of them, anyway?’_

Clint has already pissed them off - he, too, is fiercely protective, and so he’d attacked the first person ending up close enough in his range. He landed a few good hits, because Hawkeye can be damn fast, even more so when he is angry and protective. But Clint had to pay, and now he wouldn’t be able to fight even if he wasn’t chained to the goddamn wall.

No wonder Tony is angry - he hates it when either of them gets hurt. Not that he wouldn’t do the exact same thing for them, but this right here, their tendency to get hurt in order to protect one another is the only thing the three of them have serious fights over these days. It’s always the same, and at the end of the day, the only option is to accept that this is going to happen eventually. 

Logically, they know that. But having to fear for each other's safety and occasionally lives, puts a lid on all logic. 

They have been through this more than a few times, but it doesn’t stop them from reminding each other that they’re reckless idiots and to sit their fucking ass down, stop hurting yourself, goddammit, we love you and we need you in one piece.

Right now, Steve would give anything to be home with Tony and Clint to fight about this, instead of being stuck here.

He is breathing hard, but still biting back on the screams stuck in his throat. Then, something sharp cuts into the flesh of his already mangled arm. Every muscle in his body is screaming at him to move, to do anything, but it is impossible. The injured limbs spasm uselessly, and as they are starting to heal, the masked men re-break them.

It keeps going for what could be hours or minutes - Steve has lost all sense of time already. 

When someone takes his head into a tight hold and forces his mouth open, Steve stiffens up and clenches his fists, despite the pain shooting through his arms when he does so. He is shaking violently, both from pain and fear, but he forces himself to keep going, keep resisting whatever they want to do to him next.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see one of the guys holding a rusty pair of pliers - he knows what is about to come before they even rip out the first tooth. 

Blood is gushing down his face and makes him choke on it, causing him to throw up all over himself. Cruel laughter is ringing in his ears, and they continue like nothing happened - they enjoy this, Steve knows, and that makes it worse - makes it personal.

One after the other, they pull out his teeth, uncaring if they break any, uncaring if they hurt any of the surrounding bones. Especially since the serum in his veins causes them to grow back every single time - there is nothing but pain, and the pile of bloodied teeth on the floor keeps growing with every minute.

Steve’s vision is fogged up with blood, sweat and tears. It’s burning in his eyes, and breathing is hard enough as it is.

 _‘Keep breathing’_ he thinks to himself, _‘Keep breathing, keep them occupied. Maybe they will leave Clint and Tony alone.’_

He hopes, feverishly, like a child would wish for a miracle. Realistically though, it’s unlikely and he knows it. But maybe Steve can keep them busy for long enough until help can arrive - the other Avengers must know that something is wrong by now, and so far, they never failed to find and rescue each other whenever it was needed.

Hopefully, this time won’t be the exception.

*+~

Tony is pacing. He can’t make it far, what with the heavy chains attached to the cuffs around his hands and feet, but even here, he can’t shake off his nervous habit. He is ranting and rambling, which is a very one-sided conversation, what with Clint unable to speak or even move his jaw without excruciating pain. When Tony walks into his direction again, he is pretty sure that the look on his face tells him very clearly,

“If I could, I would be throwing things at your head right now” but as it is, there is nothing to throw, he can’t move well enough and they can’t even get close to one another. If they try, really try, they can reach each other's fingertips but that’s about it. No way to touch, help or comfort one another. 

“Fuck!” Tony spits out, shaking his head and sitting back down on the floor. He hates this situation, especially because he can’t think of a way out yet. It frustrates him to no end, but for now, they are entirely helpless. He lets out a long sigh and buries his head in his knees for a moment. 

_‘Stay calm, think. You won’t be able to help if you freak out’_ he tells himself, and when he looks up again, he sees that Clint has moved from his spot on the floor, settling as close to him as he can without dislocating a limb. 

Small favors.

“Do you know how long it has been?” Tony asks quietly, and Clint sings back, using both hands, but it is painfully slow. When he’d taken the first hit, they had kicked him to the floor and although they don’t look broken, his arms have clearly taken damage. Not nearly as much as his face, but still more than enough.

“About 1 hour - give or take.” then Clint adds, “I don’t like this.”

Tony barks an unhappy laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, me neither. Fuck… I know why he did it. I do. But serum or not, they can cause some real damage, especially over a longer time span.”

Clint nods, and there is something dark in his eyes - something tells Tony that no matter how this is going to go, people will die with an arrow through their throat. Sooner or later, it all depends on how things will go here. 

“You, too, by the way. Fuck.” he shakes his head again, and when he looks up again, Clint is signing at him.

“Pot, kettle.” 

“You’re not funny.”

“Not joking.Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for any of us.” the look Clint gives him is less than impressed - and damn it, he is absolutely right. Tony hates that, too. 

“...True. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it if you get hurt.”

“I know.” Clint keeps his sentences short from then on, and it looks like his pain is getting worse the more time passes. He seems to hunch into himself, which is always a bad sign. Visible tremors are running through his entire body, and his eyes are glossing over while his breathing gets more and more shallow. Staying awake is hard.

Tony picks up on that, and wishes, not for the first time, that they were close enough to touch. 

“Hey.” he says, louder than intended, but he might be losing it already. Not surprising, given the circumstances. 

“Don’t you dare pass out on me right now. I need you.” That last part sounds way more desperate than Tony wants it to, but he can’t find the energy to care. Besides, they’ve been through too much shit together to keep up any pretense. 

What he gets in response is a single shaky hand sign from Clint. The bruises in his face slowly turn ugly colors and there is still crusted blood all over him. But Clint holds onto consciousness for as long as he can. His head is exploding and the pain seems to spread through his entire body, leaving him tense and shivering in the cold dark, but his answer, as short and shaky as it may be, is what he knows with absolute certainty even now when everything goes to shit.

“I love you.”

*+~

They ask him questions, but Steve remains silent. His mind is fogged up with pain and exhaustion, but he also tries not to pay it any attention - if he answers one seemingly harmless question, he’ll be much more likely to answer more later. He’s learned that ages ago, and it pays off to remember.

In the back of his mind, he tries to keep track of the small line in between keeping the captors occupied with him without actually giving them anything, and them turning back around to use either of his partners as bait against him. It’s the easiest and oldest trick in the book, and he hopes with everything he’s got that it won’t come this far. If it did, he’d never forgive himself.

“You are a tough one, Captain.” Someone - he thinks it’s the leader of the group - is all but purring close to his ear. He is leaning in so much so that Steve can feel the hot breath on his skin, as are the fingers creeping over his forehead in mock-affection. It’s revolting, and if he was physically able to, Steve would have broken the guys neck in response. As it is, all he can do is glare.

“Oh, I will break you. And when I’m done, I’ll pick one of your little friends and do the same. When I’m done with him, I’ll play with the other one… Again and again, until one of you sings.”

There is no doubt in those words, stated with an almost cold disinterest, but it makes Steve go rigid before he can stop himself. His fear is frantic by now, and it doesn’t escape the masked man’s notice.

“Interesting.” he drawls, softly brushing his fingertips over the side of Steve’s face. A smear of blood remains on his hand, but of course that doesn’t stop him. Steve wants to be numb, not feel anything at all. Then, the man asks him, with a mock-gentle, interested voice,

“What are they to you, huh? Friends? A lover - two lovers? My, my, that’s greedy.” another laugh, hot breath on his skin and Steve wants to throw up and get his hands on this bastard to kill him - he doesn’t much care in which order. 

The masked man is still touching him, and this makes it all worse. His skin is crawling with fear and disgust, and the mantra in his head is deafening.

_‘Please don’t hurt them, please don’t hurt them…’_

Steve is only faintly aware that they cut away his shirt. More hands are creeping over his bare skin, and it makes him flinch just as much as the breaking bones. When one hand lingers by the waistband of his pants, caressing the outline of his muscles and with fingers creeping beneath it, another mouthful of bile rises up his throat. He doesn’t even try to hold it back this time.

 _‘God, no, make it stop.’_ He hates being this helpless, but the alternative would be to give up, and then it is as good as certain that those bastards will move on to torture either Tony or Clint, possibly both. Steve refuses to let that happen for as long as he can manage.

In response to the vomit, he gets hit with a sharp backand, but it is almost laughable, compared to everything else that already happened and likely will happen. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see a black clad figure, wearing thick rubber gloves. Unsurprisingly, the face is hidden behind a thick ski mask. The only features that are visible through cut out holes are yellowed teeth and ice cold eyes, warped into a cruel grimace of anticipation. This man is holding a plastic canister, and the symbols on it are enough to make Steve’s stomach turn - he recognizes them from various bottles in Tony’s lab. It is acid. 

The thing is, Steve is no spy. He is a soldier - always was, and despite spending so many years doing all kinds of work for SHIELD and the Avengers, that never really changed. He is a bad liar - always had been. But now, out of pure desperation, he starts talking. He is spinning answers to the questions, hoping they’ll buy it. Constructing lies is hard, especially under stress and without giving away any half-truths. But Steve tries - he really does. 

To be fair, he is pretty out of it by now, and he is doing considerably well for those circumstances. 

“It talks - who would have thought.” one of the goons mocks. He is laughing, cold and cruel.

“Hear hear. Unfortunately, I don’t believe a word.” the first guy replies, then he steps aside, leaving the way open to Steve. Then he waves the guy with the acid over.

“Your turn. Have fun.”

As much as he tries not to, Steve does scream this time. The pain is hot and burning, and he can smell the chemicals. They eat away at his bare skin, eat away on his hair. While he is screaming, the masked man pours some of the acid on his face, causing it to run down his throat, into his eyes - the sensation is pure agony, and even though it hurts more, he can’t stop screaming. 

It doesn’t take long for him to pass out after that. 

*+~

There is something truly disturbing about Captain America being unconscious, thrown into the cell and remaining still on the floor. They had thought hearing him scream from the other room had been bad enough, but seeing him after the fact is worse. 

Chemical burns cover his entire body, and so do cuts and bruises - all in different stages of healing. They removed his shirt at some point, but there are holes where the fabric of his pants has melted together with skin. There really is no way to describe it other than absolutely horrible.

Many of his bones are definitely broken, and it looks like at least some of them healed wrong already. Steve’s labored breathing is cutting through the air, rusling and painful, like he is choking on glass shards. Even for him and serum enchanted body, it is a miracle that he is even alive. 

A split second after Steve is carelessly thrown to the floor, where he lays in a sore, blood soaked heap, both Tony and Clint go berserk. The chains still hold them back, but it doesn’t stop either of them from trying to get to Steve or to choke the nearest captor to death.

Clint is in a sorry state himself, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling on the chain, growling in anger because he can’t form the words to swear at them. There is a hot rage in his eyes, and if he was in a better state, he would have found a way to inflict damage on them, no matter what or how. Every bit of strength that is still in him is on full display right now and it is truly terrifying. 

Tony is spitting venom at the masked men, snarling and yelling, promising to kill every single one of them. He is dead serious - no one hurts his loved ones and gets away with it.

Both of them are furious with anger, but also desperate to get near their partner to check on him. It’s not like they could do anything but be there, but oftentimes, just being close is enough - having one another is enough.

“This was his choice.” the leader of the group shrugs, carelessly and bored, like this is just another day at the office for him.

“And since we didn’t get what we wanted, we’ll continue. With him.” he nods over to Clint, who glares at him but doesn’t react to the statement otherwise.

“No! Don’t! Leave him the fuck alone!” Tony tries to cut their way off, even though he knows it is useless, but it’s pure instinct by now. The chains pull him back, and he is pretty sure he dislocated a shoulder in the process - pain is flooding his body, but he doesn’t care - he is way too furious, trying to fight and trying to protect Clint from further harm. 

There is no way he could get near Steve, either. Despite being in one room, the three of them are pretty much on their own. There is no way this isn’t deliberate. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” the captor tells him, still sounding bored and matter of fact. 

“He’s pretty much useless anyway, and it will be much more fun to watch you break while we take him. We didn’t get to try out all of our toys when we had the other one, so.” he shrugs, then waves at one of his goons, who punches Tony in the stomach, causing him to fold over and spit out a mouthful of bile. Coughing and choking, he doesn’t even have time to collect himself because the masked man nearest to him is tapig his mouth shut with duct tape, causing him to choke even more. The tape is pulling at every single hair in close proximity, and Tony is glaring daggers at their captors, despite his eyes watering and feeling like is about to suffocate. Someone steps up behind him, and Tony can hear the clicking of the gun before he feels the cold nuzzle on his temple. He goes perfectly still out of pure instinct. Being held at gunpoint is something he is depressingly used to by now, and he reacts without even thinking. 

“Don’t move, or you’re all dead.” the leader informs them, and there are guns pointed at both Steve and Clint as well. Tony is overwhelmed with anger, fear, helplessness and desperation - he can’t do anything.

The leader of the group pulls out a knife, lazily walking up to Clint, who is still standing, against all odds. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug. 

The masked man is pulling the blade over Clint’s cheek, leaving behind a bloody trail in the midst of other cuts and bruises. The archer tries his hardest not to flinch away, but doesn’t succeed - there is too much tender and in injured flesh already.

He barely manages to retreat into his headspace, like he was trained to years ago, in case of torture and interrogation. It usually works quite well to a certain degree, but right now, he is far from his usual mental capacity. There is too much going on already, and he is holding on to consciousness and sanity with very slippery fingertips. Part of him wants to grab Steve and Tony and run away, part of him wants to messily murder their captors. He can’t do any of that. 

All he can do right now is try and stay upright for as long as he can, trying to keep them away from Tony at least - the chances are low, but it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Clint falls in and out of consciousness while they alternate between burning him with a cigar and pushing his head into a bucket of water. The swollen and dislocated jaw makes it impossible for him to keep his mouth shut in the first place, and choking on water while hot ashes burn his skin is enough to let him pass out. 

The next time Clint wakes up, they have cut off his clothes. He knows it will be getting a lot worse now, and he goes absolutely berserk in their grip, despite the injuries that already keep him down. Where he even finds the strength to do so, he doesn’t know, but his efforts are met with more violence. 

Then, one of the men forces his head to look at Tony, who stares in helpless horror, unable to do anything to help. The captor behind him moves the gun, casually so, but leaving no doubt that he will use it whenever he sees fit. Clint goes perfectly still at once, shaking his head no.

 _‘Don’t hurt him. I’ll stay still.’_ he thinks, desperately wishing he was somehow able to articulate himself right now. 

His ears are ringing, and he is pretty sure that if not one of the countless hits against his head, then the water would have broken his hearing aids by now. They must be - there is no way that this room would be this quiet, otherwise.

 _‘Close your eyes.’_ Clint thinks, looking over to where they hold Tony on gunpoint and force him to watch this horror show, hoping he’ll understand what he wants to tell him. Then he is forced down on his knees, and the two of them lose eye contact. 

_‘You don’t want to see this. Look away.’_ he quietly tells Tony inside his head, and he can’t stop himself from shaking with cold and fear when one of the masked men steps close and into his personal space. He is unbuckling his pants, completely uncaring when the leather belt hits Clint in the face. 

On the other side of the room, laying on the floor in a pale, bloodied heap, Steve is slowly waking up and choking on air. He is coughing from too many sensations and overwhelming pain, and then he slowly realizes what is happening in the room around him. He can’t see much yet, but his ears pick up all sorts of noises, and he wants to throw up all over again.

There is the cold and cruel laughter that has been burned into his mind, but there are also horrible wet noises that make his stomach turn. He can clearly make out the sound of skin against skin, pained groans, bitten off sobs and worse.

Desperately, Steve is trying to move, trying to help, to fight, trying to do anything at all. But as it is, his bones are a mangled mess and his skin is burned off. As much as he wants to, he can’t move, remaining just as helpless as the other two. Steve knows, if he was anyone else, his encounter with the acid would have left him blind - or rather, dead - without a question. Not to mention all the other horrible things that happened.

But as much as they hurt him before, it is only now, that he is forced to watch and listen to the scene unfold in front of him that there are hot and angry tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop them from dripping down his face and into the dirt. 

*+~

Eventually, rescue comes - neither Tony, Clint or Steve is awake to see them coming. But they are being carried away by Thor and Hulk while the Black Widow makes her way through the entire place. Methodically, she is killing every single person she comes across. Natasha Romanov doesn’t know mercy, not when it comes to killing the men who hurt her family. Once she knows that they are safe and on the way to medical help, she takes her time with every single one of those men. Their horrified screams echo through the building, and when she finally leaves, drenched in blood that isn’t hers and with seething anger in her eyes, she makes sure that the entire place bursts into flames. Even if she should have missed anyone - which is unlikely, but still - they will be dead either way. 

A painful death is the price to pay for anyone who hurts the people close to her.

*+~

It takes months until life gets somewhat back to normal. The injuries heal, but this time in captivity in particular left scars, both in the physical and psychological sense. 

While in the hospital, Tony, Steve and Clint move heaven and earth to be able to see each other, despite emergency surgeries and various amounts of time spent in bed. They remain close to one another, both seeking and giving comfort. 

Many days are spent holding hands and each other, spent sharing quiet words of love and reassurance. Many nights are spent wide awake and in tears. They still hold onto one another then, and it is only when all of them are back home that things get even harder.

Luckily, Steve is able to heal fast, at least in a physical sense. His body bears no marks of the events, but he can’t shake off the memories. Even when he spends the time with Tony and Clint while they are still healing, he is beginning to retreat into his shell, growing more and more hollow each day. As much as he loves these two men, as much as he wants to be there to help them in any way he possibly can - he can’t help but flinch away from touch, even when he is the one reaching out. It hurts, but he isn’t ready to talk yet.

Besides, both of them understand. 

Clint himself swings widely between clinging onto either one or both of his partners for dear life and being unable to be in the same room with anyone without wanting to tear his skin off. This time is probably the hardest for him. 

As much as he wants the comfort, and to be able to comfort Steve and Tony, when the flashbacks and memories get too much, the mere thought of being touched in any way is enough to send him into a panic attack and he ends up pushing everyone around him away. It takes weeks until he is able to talk again, but even then, he chooses not to, more often than not.

By the time he is able to leave the hospital, he tends to hide more and more. Clint is the last of them to be released, since Steve’s serum took care of everything weeks ago. As bad as it looked at first, at least his body didn’t take any lasting damage. Psychologically, that’s a whole different story. 

Tony is in the hospital for quite some time as well since he, too, got to experience the fucked up and violent treatment from their captors once they were done with Steve and Clint, leaving them laying on the floor where they dropped them. 

Broken bones, dislocated shoulders, acid burns over the left side of his torso. The only reason they didn’t do even more to Tony is due to the fact that they got interrupted by a few well targeted bullets from Natasha. Who knows what would have happened if their team had arrived any later - it’s likely they would have recovered bodies instead of injured friends. 

Just like for his partners, touch is a difficult subject to Tony. It always has been, to a degree, but years of friendship, trust and later, romantic love, had taught him how to accept and enjoy physical contact. Now, he is torn between wanting to be as close as humanly possible to another person, preferably Steve or Clint, and wanting to hide, to avoid touch altogether. 

The three of them combined, with similar trauma related issues, is a hard thing to juggle. Neither of them wants to leave the others alone, but they also have to take care of their own needs. But as similar as these needs are, they rarely ever match up at the same time and the more time passes, the more worn out and broken it leaves them.

Getting out of the hospital helps, at least a bit. Private rooms are a godsend after the captivity and the weeks in the medical bay. They are surrounded by their team, who offer loving support but also leave them be if needed. And each of them has their own ways of helping. 

An open ear or silent company, a shared pot of tea, distractions, a warm body to curl up next to or steady company from a distance - it varies widely on the person and the day. 

Steve has a hard time accepting comfort, and it gets more difficult the more time passes. This is probably one of the worst parts, something these bastards have taken from him. The mock-comforting touch, when they were the ones inflicting pain. It messed him up, maybe permanently, and it breaks his heart, when he realizes that he flinches away from his partners and friends, people who love him and would never try and hurt him. No one is mad when it happens and they say they understand. He knows they do, and painfully so, but none of this stops Steve from feeling guilty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” he says, for the 100th time, when he suddenly shoots up from the bed where he was curled up in between Clint and Tony. His heart is beating fast and his hands are shaking while he is sitting upright. 

Steve knows he is safe, and he wants to be here - he loves to spend time with the two of them, loves being close to them. Loves them, period. 

But this small part in his brain mistook the gentle brush of fingers against the skin of his hand as a threat, causing him to flinch away and scramble out of bed before he has time to think about it.

Hands on hands used to be safe, even after everything. 

_‘Why now?’_ he thinks, and there are tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. Fuck. I - I’m sorry… It’s not your fault.” 

Clint had been half asleep before this, and he didn’t mean to startle Steve, let alone trigger his trauma. He had merely brushed against the other man's hand, where it rested hanging over his chest, but the utterly scared look on Steve’s face breaks his heart. He looks stricken and doesn’t dare to reach out. 

“Do you want to switch places?” Tony asks quietly, knowing that the middle space can make all of them feel crowded from time to time, especially more recently. There is a long pause, but eventually, Steve nods in silence and they shuffle themselves until Tony is in the middle and Steve is stretching out on the other side, leaving just a tiny bit of space in between himself and his partners. He needs a moment, but he hopes he can come closer again when he has calmed down. At least, this time he doesn’t need to leave the room. It’s always worse when this happens. 

“I love you both.” he says, voice thick and still shaking, but he needs to tell them, needs them to know. 

“We love you, too.”

“A lot.”

The replies come quickly, no hesitation, but it is clear that both of them are shaken up. Clint especially - he has a guilt complex a mile wide, and the hostage situation did not help this. There is no doubt that he is beating himself up over accidentally triggering Steve. 

Steve can see his hands on Tony’s back shaking, more so than usually, and his voice sounds rough when he says, “A lot”. C lint remains silent after that though, and keeps his breathing carefully even. This is always a sign that he is trying to compose himself. 

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve slowly scoots a little bit closer again. He keeps his hands to himself, just in case, to avoid another bad reaction, but he buries his nose in the back of Tony’s hair. He smells familiar, of the expensive shampoo that he always uses. It’s a warm mixture of musk and citrus, and he has associated it with “home” for years. The scent relaxes him, still. Small comforts. 

When he is breathing a little easier again, Steve unfolds his hands, quietly asking for permission before he wraps both arms around Tony, reaching far enough to be able to hold onto Clint as well. His arms are long enough, and the other two are cuddled together tightly as well. He can feel the slight tremors traveling through both of them though, and neither of them is talking for the rest of the evening. They simply hold onto one another, letting the room darken up as the sun is setting outside.

Later that night, Clint wakes up with a start, frantically pulling away from the pile of limbs and stumbling into the bathroom. He really hopes he didn’t wake anyone, but it’s unlikely. In his panic, all he focuses on is to get away. His dream is still lingering - hands, pain, the taste of dirt in his mouth as the masked guy in the cell - 

_‘No, stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking’_

Bile rises up his throat, and barely makes it to the toilet in time. Clint is sinking to the cold tile floor, clutching the porcelain with both hands and shaking apart while he loses the contents of his stomach. He didn’t eat much - hasn’t ever since before the mission went to hell, and there isn’t anything to throw up anymore, but his entire body is revolting. There are only liquids, and it is painful, but he can’t stop choking on fear, can’t stop his body from reacting. 

Too many thoughts overwhelm him, and when Clint pulls away from the toilet, he folds himself into the corner, making himself as small as he can. It’s an old habit, from when he was much younger and smaller, but even now, he is able to curl up in the tiniest spaces. Hiding, even though the horrors lurk inside his own head now and no longer in front of the door.

Chances are, either Tony, Steve or both are awake by now and know that he has locked himself in the bathroom. Clint wouldn’t be able to hear them knock right now, even though he knows they’ll be worried. But it’s too much to handle, and he doesn’t want Steve to worry about him right now, not when he has his own struggles to work through. 

This is not how it works, and he knows it. This is not how they work, or how love works, but Clint is unable to think clearly. Both of his hands are fisted into his hair and he can feel a thick lump in his throat. 

Many years of practise have taught him how to cry almost soundlessly, and some habits never quite stop. Despite knowing with a security that used to be entirely foreign to him, that he is loved and has a support system, there are moments when reaching out is unthinkable. 

When trauma hits, he might just as well be lost and alone again. Coming back from this is always hard, but it is even harder to accept help when things get this bad. 

Breath shuddering, shaking apart in cold sweat he finally gives in. The nightmare is lingering, leaving the memories of hard, uncaring hands and hot, stinking breath near him. He still feels like he is being ripped apart, in more than one sense, and he desperately wants it to stop, wants to stop thinking, wants to stop - entirely. 

Tears are soaking through the fabric of his sleeves, dripping onto his pants, but Clint doesn’t care. It feels like this night lasted forever, and when the ghost of lingering hands all over him is finally fading away, his brain is focusing on the incident from earlier. 

Touch is a tricky subject these days. Logically, all three of them know that accidents are bound to happen, that they are probably going to scare or hurt one another without meaning to if they want to remain in close quarters. The alternative would be to stay apart, but that would be even worse. It would take away their biggest support, because as much as the captivity and its aftermath left all of them hurting and broken, Clint is sure that, if they didn’t have each other, it would be so much easier to give up. 

Maybe they need to learn how to manage these situations better, but he doesn’t know how.

After a few more minutes of intentionally slow breathing, Clint manages to calm down enough to unfold himself a bit. He is stiff, muscles aching from holding himself so tense and the cold from the floor that is creeping into him isn’t helping. He is shivering from it, more so than the remainers of the dream at this point - he is safe. He knows this. It’s just hard to remind himself of it sometimes.

Finally, Clint manages to get up from the floor. Exhausted, he is wiping at his face with one sleeve, sniffling and trying to compose himself before walking out of the bathroom. He turns off the light before opening the door, and when he crawls back into bed, he burrows himself in the soft, sleep warm body closest to him. Arms wrap around him, and he can feel a thumb softly caressing his cheek, wiping away a few stray tears that he can’t hold back. He can feel the murmur of a question against his hair, despite being unable to make out the words. 

Clint doesn’t answer, but he drifts back into sleep with the sensation of a gentle kiss on top of his head.

Early in the morning, before the sun is even up, Clint is startled awake from violent thrashing from the other side of the bed. He almost shoots up into a standing position, ready to fight, but then he realizes that there is no attack. It’s Steve, and he is caught up on what seems to be a vivid nightmare. 

Clint can’t make out the words, but he can see his lips moving frantically, sees him shaking violently, curling up into himself as if trying to hide.

Tony is awake, too, and from the looks of it, he is trying to wake Steve up without scaring him further.

“Steve. Wake up. Honey, you’re safe!” 

Both of them are attempting to get him back into reality, and finally, he wakes up with a start, shaking violently and eyes wide open in shock and fear.

“What - am I - are we -” he can’t even finish the sentence, breathing too hard, too erratic in his panic.

“You’re safe. We’re all safe. We’re home now.”

Mutely, he nods, pressing as close to Tony as humanly possible, almost laying on top of him. It is safe to assume that needs to be close, needs as much physical contact as he can stand at the time. This is what happens sometimes - one moment, he can’t be too close, the other,he wants to crawl out of his own skin to crawl into someone else. 

They know this by now, know the signs, and this is why Tony does what he does. He simply climbs over Steve, using his entire body to shove him further in the middle of the bed and then clings onto his back. It is the right call, judging by the way Steve practically melts into the touch, allowing Clint to come closer, to wrap himself around him, safe and secure. 

Carefully, he keeps his hands closed, avoiding any fingers to touch or trail on Steve, too scared it might set off his trauma again. But Clint holds him close, head tucked under the taller man’s chin and trying to keep his own breathing slow and even, attempting to give him a pattern to follow, to help him calm down. 

It works, and Steve can feel himself relax as he lets the sensations wash over him. Two warm bodies around him, the two wonderful people he loves so much. Their touch is different from each other and very distinctive, just right in their own ways.

Steve reaches up to his chest, searching for Tony’s hand to get a hold of it and is relieved to feel him squeeze back, warm and reassuring, while he is talking quietly. What about, Steve wouldn't be able to tell, but the familiar voice, the comforting ramble and just knowing that he isn’t alone is enough.

Clint doesn’t say anything - he probably doesn’t have his ears in right now, but then again, he went a lot more nonverbal than usual in the last few months, even after his face injuries had healed and talking should no longer hurt. But who knows if it does - brains can be strange like that sometimes.

He presses close to Steve, relieved when his free arm snakes around his waist and pulls him even closer. It is a good sign, and by the time the sun is starting to rise outside, the three of them are drifting off into sleep again.

Their days are spent mostly at home. None of them is fit or comfortable to go back to the field just yet, and this is another source of stress. Sitting still and remaining in place while the others go out in the field is hard, especially since it is linked to past traumas and general insecurities, but thankfully, the rest of the team puts their foot down.

“Yes, we need you out there. But in order to go back out in the first place, you need to get well and that is clearly not the case yet. Take your time, heal, talk to someone - anything. It’s okay.”

“We’re here for you, too, you know.”

It is a sentiment that gets repeated time and time again, but it takes a while until it sticks. Until that happens, everyone remains close to one another. There are more team meals, movie nights and anything else they usually enjoy, and if the other Avengers hover for a bit, well, that is understandable. 

Steve, Clint and Tony went missing for only two days, but even in that time frame, a lot of damage was inflicted in each of them. By the time the rest of the team arrived, they had been scared it would be too late. It probably wouldn’t have taken much more time to kill them.

To say they had been terrified for their friends would have been an understatement.

Natasha is protective of all of them, and even long after the rescue, she lingers. Staying in the room, or just outside the door, watching their back. 

Very similar is Thor. He, too, spent a lot of days and nights guarding their friends in the hospital, making sure no one would inflict any more harm onto them. The sight of his three friends, beaten and bloody and destroyed on the cold, wet floor are etched into his mind, and it is hard to shake off. Even now, while they are mostly back to health, at least physically. Some remains of those two days will probably always linger.

Bruce is just as worried, just as protective, and he spends a lot of time pacing. He also has a hard time keeping Hulk calm and contained - the other guy is still angry, still wants to tear something to shreds since he was a part of the rescue team. It gets considerably easier once Steve, Tony and Clint are getting better, or at least wake up.

In the upcoming weeks and months, none of them is ever going too far away, if they can help it. Losing each other is not an option, not now, where everything is still fresh. Some days, the offer of support is received better than others. 

The days where either one or all of them are hiding completely are getting a little less as time goes on, but it is still a frequent occurrence. 

One movie night ends with most of them dozing off on the couch, and things are okay for once. It’s a comfortable and familiar state to be in, even though there is a little more distance now than there was before. There were days, when they would pile up on top of each other, heads pillowed on laps and chests, limbs tangled up with one another and just generally being close to one another, no matter who or how. 

Now, this is a lot harder. Too much touch at once can, and still does, end badly most days.

They wake up and shuffle off into different directions one by one, and later that night, Tony is tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling and shaking. 

He’s had a bad week, despite trying to keep a lid on it. Memories, nightmares and panic attacks from all of them have piled up, and Tony isn’t sure why. Okay that’s a lie - he does know, of course, but it’s been getting more and more lately, and he can’t put his finger on a specific reason. 

_‘Why now?’_ Tony keeps asking himself, even though he knows that recovery is not a straight line. He knows it from plenty of painful personal experiences. It is especially hard when it involves three traumatized people who are determined to be there for each other regardless of their own struggles. 

But his thoughts have been overwhelming in the last few days, anxiety running wild - it comes back to bite him in the ass that night.

Tony has always been a bit of a sleep-talker. Sometimes, he can hold entire conversations while being fast asleep. This has resulted in him waking up to whoever is close at the time dissolving into a wheezing fit of laughter, because while Tony holds conversations while asleep just fine, they rarely ever make sense. 

Other times, like now, the things he says while asleep are distressing. 

Tony is tossing and turning, elbowing and kicking both Steve and Clint in the process until they’re wide awake. They’re trying to wake Tony, to calm him down, but he seems to be trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape. 

“No… Please… Stop…” 

The words get more and more clear, and there is no question what Tony’s dreams are about. A broken, desperate whimper escapes him, something he’d normally never allow himself to vocalize. Despite the attempts to wake him, Tony doesn't react, until he shoots up and into a sitting position. Breathing is hard, and he is shaking violently. 

“No, no, no,no... Stop… Just stop…” Rocking back and forth, he mumbles the words over and over, until his voice gives up completely. 

“Tony. You’re safe, we’re all safe. It’s okay, we’re here.”

“Keep breathing, Love. We’re all home. Breathe, please...”

Words take a long time until they register with him, but eventually, Tony finds himself sinking back onto the bed, burrowed in between his partners, clinging on for dear life as they hold him close, waiting for the storm to pass. Tony is terrified, even now that he knows they are home and safe. He needs to be as close as humanly possible to both Clint and Steve, needs to know, needs to feel that they are here and alive. 

For a while, back in that hell hole, there had been a very real possibility for Tony to lose both the people he loves most. Steve had been an almost lifeless lump in a cold corner, tortured badly enough for any other person to be dead five times over. Cut up, beaten, bloody and with acid eating away at his skin in so many places, breath shallow and horribly pale under all of the damage, Steve seemed to hold onto life with bare teeth and scrambling fingers until well after the rescue. 

_‘This is your own fault’_ the mean voice in the back of Tony’s head had whispered accusingly, well aware that Steve had done this to protect him, to protect Clint - he doesn’t blame either of them, only himself.

Being forced to watch Steve die slowly, as Tony had thought at the time, was bad enough to traumatize him for life. But of course the bastards only made things worse, if that was even possible, when they’d chosen Clint next. 

They hurt him, in every vicious and painfully personal way they could, holding everyone at gunpoint. Time seemed to slow down then, dragging everything on and on, and Tony can still feel the helpless desperation, being unable to help, being unable to do anything at all besides watch as those bastards broke the two men he loves more than life itself. 

Shaking apart now, as much as he did then, Tony clutches the soft fabric of a shirt in his fist, the same shirt that his face is pressed into, muffling the sobs. There is a hand in his hair, fingers combing through small knots and scratching his scalp in a way that is so incredibly soothing he wants to melt. Warm breath tickles his neck, and chapped lips are kissing the exposed skin, so gentle, so lovingly that it makes him want to cry even more. 

There are four arms wrapped around him and Tony doesn’t want them to go away, so he holds on as tightly as he possibly can. 

*+~

There is no way they can keep going like this forever. It is obvious and they know it, but seeking professional help is hard - so incredibly hard. All of them have their individual shrinks to sort out the various messes in their brains, both before and after the hostage situation, but the success to deal with the latest events is… halting, to say the least. 

“Can I just take my brain out and give it away? I don’t want it. Fuck. I really don’t.” Clint says one evening, shoving a piece of brokkoli around on his plate with no intention to eat anything. He’s had an appointment that same day, early in the morning, and he’d been jumpy and withdrawn ever since. More so than usual that is. He’s mostly kept to himself over the day, unable to accept company or comfort. Some days are still worse than others, but at least that night, he’d agreed to at least try to have dinner with the others, even though food is about the last thing he wants right now - he is so incredibly tired. 

As time goes by, the three of them decide to try out seeing a therapist together. It takes a while to find one that everyone involved is comfortable with, which proves to be difficult at best. After weeks and months of exhausting trials, they finally find a Doctor that doesn’t make any them uncomfortable - it is a near miracle. 

The sessions together are different, but it’s definitely good to work through some stuff together - especially since all three of them have an unfortunate tendency to put themselves last and everyone else first in an attempt to help.

“You love each other, that much is abundantly clear. You are each other's people, and you want to take care of each other, but you cannot do that without making sure that each and every one of you is okay to do so themselves. I know that you know this,” the middle aged woman in front of them continues, pulling out a pen from behind her ear. Truth be told, it mostly sticks in her big curly hair, and she has a habit of looking over the rim of her thick, colorful glasses, but they like that about her. 

Dr. Johnson is the perfect mixture of warm, friendly, professional and no-bullshit. Honestly, they adore this woman, if only for the facts that her presence is a comfortable one, and that she is willing to treat the three of them together - not every therapist had been. 

Some sessions are harder than others, and they expect this. It would be foolish not to. But after a while, they realize just how much progress they have made in the last few weeks and months. Bad days still come, and they hit them like a truck, but those days are getting a lot less frequent. The three of them sleep better, cope better. Life seems worth living again, especially once they have more of those good days, where talking and touching is easy again. 

Some time down the road, a snowstorm is turning New York into a bright, glittery landscape covered in white. It looks beautiful, but Steve takes one look outside, thinks of the cold and says,

“Fuck, no.” 

He proceeds to sprawl out on the couch in front of the fireplace with no intention to move any time soon. 

It doesn’t take long for Clint to shuffle in the kitchen, make a huge pot of coffee and fill it into a thermos to keep it hot.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, casually, but still making sure that it’s okay. The day has been good so far, and he doesn’t want to risk anything. Clint is beyond happy when Steve hums in agreement, so Che flops down on top of him, cuddling close and letting out a long breath of air. 

“Did you just make coffee only to fall asleep right after?” Steve asks him with a lopsided smile and already knowing the answer.

“Not my fault you’re all cute, warm and cozy here.” Clint grumbles back, but there is no heat behind his words. On the contrary, he is smiling, and happily plants a kiss in the middle of Steve’s chest, right where his head is resting. It rumbles under him with slight laughter, and then a pair of strong arms wraps around Clint. Steve runs hotter than most people, and a hug from him is warmer than a blanket. It’s perfect.

“Hmmm…. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

A little while later, Tony emerges from the lab, probably only on the search for coffee, but he can’t resist the sight of his two favourite people on the couch. Seeing them like this makes him smile, happy that they are happy, and he is tempted to let work be work. 

Even if Bruce wasn’t pushing him in that direction, with a fond and knowing smile, Tony would have caved sooner or later. He must be staring though, because Clint cracks an eye open and Steve stirs a bit, opening up his arms to make space for Tony. He doesn't waste any time and flops down on top of Clint, nose buried in his blond mop of hair. His arms are dangling down as he runs gentle fingers along Steve’s side. With a long breath, Tony settles, humming happily when the arms close again over his back. 

Today is a good day - better than in a long time, actually. 

Later, the other Avengers are greeted with the sight of a cozy, snoring superhero sandwich on the couch, fast asleep and looking more relaxed than they did in a long time. With a quiet, fond happiness, they pile up on the remaining seats. It is good to see the three of them doing better, so they turn on the muted TV, keeping their peacefully sleeping friends company like they always will. 

  
  


*+~

Prompt 9/25: "Take me instead"

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:
> 
> \- Captivity Situation  
> \- restraints/chains  
> \- Graphic violence  
> \- Non/Con Touch  
> \- implied sexual non-con  
> \- Blood and Injury  
> \- Self-sacrifice  
> \- verbal threats  
> \- Torture  
> \- Threats of violence against loved ones  
> \- Homophobic language  
> \- Polyphobia  
> \- verbal humiliation  
> \- Forceful removing of clothes  
> \- gun/knife violence  
> \- pulling teeth/body horror  
> \- vomiting


End file.
